Freedom
by Kittystitch
Summary: A sequel to "The Enemy". The team has to deal with General Finch again.


FREEDOM

This morning Chief ran alone, just as the sun rose above the horizon, before the heat of the day. There was no one to compete with today. Time was not important, so he had no personal best to beat. This morning he settled into a steady, even pace, concentrating on the warmth building in his muscles and the rhythm of his breathing.

It would be an unusual day for southern England, clear and cloudless, the air fresh from the night's rain. The sky to the east was a milky blue through the fringe of trees. When the sun rose high enough above the treetops to blind him, he turned south and quickened his pace, just for the shear exhilaration of it. Even the sudden sharp sting above his right knee couldn't ruin his exuberance. When he felt the blood cooling on his pants leg, he knew he'd broken the stitches holding his shrapnel wound closed. But it wasn't serious enough to slow him down, not this morning. The doctors would say it was too soon to be running again, but they didn't know how much he needed to move, to be in the open, free of the ghosts that threatened to smother him. He needed freedom, and the idea that he had this much of it made him smile.

As he approached the terrace steps, he slowed, trying to decide if he was hungry enough for breakfast or if he should run another mile or two. He got his answer when Casino came bouncing down the steps, dressed in fatigue pants and a singlet, and called to him. "Wanna do another lap?"

"Alright. Think you can keep up?"

Casino's grin was a challenge. "Just try me, Jim Thorpe."

Chief let Casino set the pace, and he had to push himself to match it at first. It became easier as Casino settled into a comfortable stride.

"Where's the Warden this mornin'?" Casino asked between breaths.

"Meetin' with some colonel."

"Yeah, I guess we can't sit around here forever, waitin' for your boo boo to heal. We still have a war to win."

"My leg's fine."

"It don't look fine. You're leakin'."

"Just popped a stitch."

"Sure you're okay?"

"Give it a rest, Casino."

He sped up and pulled away, hoping to put an end to the chatter. Casino easily caught up, but they completed the circuit of the grounds in silence, until they were once again approaching the terrace steps.

Casino took off at a sprint, shouting back over his shoulder, "Loser buys tonight!"

Chief almost caught him. They collapsed together onto the steps, both panting too hard to laugh.

They'd just about caught their breath when Garrison's jeep pulled through the gate and came to a stop in front of them. "Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted them, climbing from the driver's seat.

"Yeah, what's so good about it?" Casino noted the ominous brief case in Garrison's left hand. "Other than Geronimo's springin' for drinks tonight."

"Not tonight. Get Actor and Goniff and meet me in the map room in fifteen minutes." Garrison climbed the steps past them and went inside.

"What'd I tell you? They can't win the war without us." Casino slapped him on the back and followed their commander up the steps.

Chief sat quietly for a minute, fingering the dried blood on his pants leg. Freedom. It was a strange thing. It was never free. But once again he decided that he was willing to pay the price they asked of him.

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"Glad you could join us," Garrison remarked when Chief finally walked into the map room where the rest of the team was already seated.

"Sure thing." Chief scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, picked up an apple from the bowl on the table, and took a seat next to Actor. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nothin' important," Goniff told him. "He ain't got to the part where we all get killed yet."

"Nobody's getting killed on this one," Garrison assured them. "It's a simple dead drop pick up, in and out."

"Simple as that, huh?" Casino sounded skeptical.

"Simple as that."

"Heard that tune before." Chief sliced off a wedge of the apple and bit into it.

"Okay, here are the details. Allied Intelligence has made contact with the girl friend of one of the Nazis' top cryptographers, and she's..."

"Crip what?" Goniff asked.

"A code writer," Actor translated.

"She's agreed to turn over the key to a code our analysts haven't been able to crack. They've arranged for a dead drop tomorrow afternoon, and have asked us to handle it."

"If it's so easy, why us?" Casino popped a couple of grapes in his mouth. "They don't have anybody there who can just pick up an envelope?"

"Look at it this way," Garrison explained. "They're calling in the experienced professionals."

Casino rolled his eyes. "Yeah, cuz we're experienced at getting shot at and blown up."

"When do we leave?" Chief ignored Casino's pessimism. He'd rather have facts he could deal with.

"We fly into Italy this afternoon, drive to Naples to make the pick up tomorrow afternoon, then fly back out tomorrow night."

"Naples." Actor's brows came together in concentration, as if he were picturing a map of Italy. "It is controlled by the Allies, is it not?"

Garrison nodded. "All of this happens behind our lines. No German patrols or forged papers to worry about this trip."

"Alrighty then, lads! Looks like our evening's booked." Casino pulled a few more grapes from the bunch in the bowl and ate one. The grape he tossed across the table hit Chief in the chest. "But the wager still stands. You're buyin' when we get back."

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Chief was a little disappointed that they weren't parachuting out of the plane this time. After that first terrifying jump, he'd come to relish the rush of leaping into nothingness, his fate totally in his own hands. He'd either land safely, or splatter on the ground, depending on his own skill alone. The controlled plunge toward earth was the closest he would ever come to flying, and he often wished he could skip the static line and just free-fall, waiting until the last second to pull the ripcord. Sitting strapped in a jump seat while some stranger in the cockpit got him to the ground felt like giving up too much control.

They'd flown in low, hitting all the turbulence. Goniff looked like he might lose his lunch. Thankfully, the pilot made a smooth landing onto the dirt runway and turned to taxi toward the cluster of olive drab quonset huts.

Garrison was unbuckled and out of his seat as soon as the wheels hit the dirt. "Grab your gear. We'll meet our contact and bunk here for the night, then head for Naples first thing in the morning."

When the plane came to a stop, Casino unlatched the door and swung it out, ready to toss his duffle to the ground. "Hold it, Warden. Is that who I think it is?"

Chief came up behind Casino to look over his shoulder, and felt the others gather behind him. Standing in a rigid at-ease pose in front of the metal building was Brigadier General Albert Finch, the arrogant idiot they'd all risked their lives to rescue from his own stupidity on their last mission. Chief felt the angry knot tighten in his gut. He vividly remembered Finch standing over him with that pompous grin, crowing his pride for having just killed a German kid in cold blood.

"Damn," Garrison swore under his breath.

"Is he our contact?" Chief had to know.

"Evidently."

"You didn't know about this?" Actor asked.

"No, I didn't." Garrison pulled his duffle bag over his shoulder and looked at each of them. "Okay, I don't like this anymore than you do, but we have a job to do, and we'll get it done. Understood?"

The others all mumbled their reluctant agreement, and headed out of the plane toward the quonset hut.

As Chief started to follow them, Garrison caught his arm. "You'll handle this like any other mission. Otherwise, stay out of his way. Got it?"

He met Garrison's challenging gaze with his own. "Yeah, I got it."

Garrison followed him out of the plane and quickly moved to the front of the group as they approached the General, taking command of the situation. The Warden held his salute for the brief second it took the General to return it.

"Lieutenant Garrison," Finch snorted. "I requested a team of professionals."

"And that's what you got, sir." The Warden stood with shoulders squared, in a stance that demanded respect. "And this assignment should be a good deal easier than the last one."

Finch's frown surveyed them critically, and finally came to rest on Garrison. "I suppose I'm stuck with you. Let's get started."

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The large metal structure the General led them into was a warehouse, stacked from floor to ceiling with long rows of crates and boxes disappearing into the gloom. The warm day had turned it into a dark oven that the open windows did little to alleviate. At the back, they took seats in folding metal chairs around a rough wooden table. When Finch sat at one end, Chief chose his seat as far to the other end as possible. Casino dropped into the chair next to him, and slid him a sideways glance. "Of all the dumb luck, right?"

"I hope you and your men understand the importance of this operation," Finch began. "We cannot afford any screw-ups. Every man will have to pull his weight."

"Of course, sir," Garrison agreed. "Every mission is important."

"This one even more so," Finch insisted, slapping a hand on the table and making it wobble. "We need to be able to decode the communications coming out of this area if we want any chance of defeating Hitler here. Getting our hands on this key will make all the difference."

"One question," Casino spoke up. "If it's just a matter of a simple dead drop, why do you need the five of us? Must be a pretty heavy key."

"I requested a trained and experienced espionage team to ensure that nothing goes wrong." Finch's voice tightened in agitation. "Instead, they sent me you."

Chief felt Casino tense and start to rise, but Garrison spoke first. "General, my men are more than capable..."

"But can you control them? I don't need any loose cannons this time."

Chief rubbed at the vague ache of his shrapnel wound. "Seems to me you'd be rottin' in a Kraut prison 'bout now if it weren't for us loose cannons."

"That's enough, Chief," Garrison warned. "General, you give us the details, and we'll take care of it."

Finch seemed to lose some of his agitation, but he was sweating from more than just the heat, and his hands trembled. Chief wondered what else was going on. Maybe he was catching flak from his superiors after letting himself get captured, and he needed to prove he could still handle things. Chief exchanged another brief glance with Casino. They'd save his arrogant ass again, but this time they'd let him sweat a little first.

Finch flipped open the folder lying in front of him and handed Garrison the top piece of paper. "This is the cafe where she'll make the drop. She'll be wearing a blue flowered dress and a yellow scarf. She'll take a table, order coffee, and when she's done, she'll leave behind a newspaper with the code key folded inside. All you need to do is pick it up."

Garrison studied the slip of paper, then tore it into small scraps and tossed it in the ashtray. "That's pretty straight forward. What time do we leave, and what time's the rendezvous?"

"We'll leave at 08:00 tomorrow and..."

"Hold on a minute," Casino sat up straight. "You're comin' with us?"

"Of course I'm coming," the General insisted. "This is my operation."

Garrison leaned forward, his mouth tightened into the thin line that Chief knew meant business. "I don't think that's a good idea, sir."

"I'm coming, Lieutenant, and that's my last word. I will not have this operation fouled up by a bunch of...of insubordinate amateurs."

"I think they've already proven that they're not amateurs," Garrison told him. "But understand, sir, I'm in command of my team. They'll follow my orders, and nothing will get fouled up."

"You'd better see to it, Lieutenant. Be in front of this building at 08:00." Finch stood abruptly, shoving his chair back against the wall, and marched away down the long row of crates.

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They were assigned bunks in the quonset hut that served as barracks for the airstrip's permanent unit of pilots, supply clerks, and mechanics. It was even hotter than the warehouse. There wasn't a hint of air through the open windows.

Chief dropped his duffle onto his cot and dug out the pouch holding the small whetstone and can of honing oil. Then he went looking for someplace cooler and more solitary.

On the east side of the barracks, he found a wooden bench that creaked and shifted as he sat. But it was catching a southerly breeze, and it was upwind from the odor of the fuel storage and airplanes.

He began with the knife in his sheath. He rested the whetstone on his thigh and dripped a bead of oil onto it. Then he methodically swiped the thin blade across it, first one side and then the other, pausing occasionally to run it between thumb and forefinger, carefully feeling for burrs and testing its sharpness. He'd never before had the luxury of taking such good care of his weapons. It was a calming routine. When he was satisfied with his work, he wiped the blade across his pants leg, removing the excess oil, and returned it to its sheath. Then he pulled the smaller blade from its pocket inside his right boot and began the routine again, letting his mind settle with the even, repetitive motion.

Here, in the fading light and soft breeze of a summer evening, his hands busy with productive work, he could almost forget his anger. It no longer felt like a hot coal eating at his insides. The vivid memory of Erik's blood on his hand, and the kid's dead blue eyes, still burned. But time and distance had created an angle he had not been able to see before. Erik had been a German soldier with a weapon, and General Finch had fired out of reflex. He still hated the pompous, self-important ass. And he still hated the war that made them all do cruel, vicious things in order to hold onto something precious.

When he heard the soft tread of someone coming around the corner, he looked up from his work. The Warden had showered and changed into civvies.

"Thought I'd find you out here somewhere." The bench creaked as Garrison sat next to him.

Chief finished with the small knife and wiped it on his shirt sleeve. Garrison reached out his palm. "May I?"

Chief folded the blade and handed it over. "The General order you to disarm me again?"

Garrison snorted a laugh. "Not this time." He snapped it open and turned it admiringly in his hand, then tested its sharpness, sliding the flat of the blade across the back of his hand. "A nice piece," he said, handing it back.

Chief slipped it into its pocket and pulled his cuff back down over his boot. "You come out here to lecture me about my attitude?"

"No. I know how you feel. And you know what I expect of you." Garrison took a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it.

"Somethin's eatin' at Finch," Chief told him, packing the whetstone and oil back into the pouch.

Garrison took a drag on his cigarette and leaned back against the wall. "His reputation is riding on this, and he doesn't trust us."

"It's more than that. If anybody's gonna blow this mission, it'll be him."

To Chief's left, Goniff poked his head out through the open window. "Hey, Warden. General Tight Britches is lookin' for ya."

Garrison lowered his head with a sigh, then crushed out his unfinished cigarette. "Tell him I'll be right there."

He laid a hand on Chief's shoulder. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day." Then he retreated inside to face his superior.

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The sun was no longer directly overhead, but its heat still lingered, radiating off the pavement. Chief slid the metal cafe chair back into the shifting shade of the umbrella and took another sip of the coffee. It tasted like ditch water. He tore off a piece of the croissant and chewed on it to get rid of the taste.

From his table at the far end of the outdoor cafe, he once again surveyed the thinning lunchtime crowd. Two middle-aged women at the next table were finishing their second bottle of wine. A kid at a table near the street hadn't looked up from his book in over a half hour. He was probably asleep. To his left, seated inside next to the large window, Actor and Casino appeared to be in some kind of heated discussion, but their eyes seldom left the scene around the sidewalk tables. Goniff slouched on a park bench across the narrow street, looking bored. He had a newspaper, but it was in Italian. He'd probably studied all the pictures a hundred times already.

At the opposite end of the little group of tables, Garrison and Finch were taking their time finishing their lunch. The girl was suppose to be here at 1:00. Chief glanced at his watch. She was a half hour late. At some point the six of them were going to start looking conspicuous.

Finch poured himself a third glass of wine. Garrison said something to him and received an angry retort. The General looked uncomfortable in the grey business suit, and fidgeted with his napkin. The uneasy knot tighten in Chief's stomach. He hoped the Warden had a firm hold of Finch, because he was definitely the amateur in this set up.

The girl in the blue flowered dress walked quickly around the far corner, coming from behind Garrison and Finch. Chief snapped his fingers, alerting Garrison. The others noticed her as she wound her way through the cluster of tables and chose the middle one, next to the curb, her back to them.

She was younger than he'd expected, not more than 25. The sundress flattered a nicely curved figure, and the yellow ribbon in her thick, dark hair matched the scarf tied neatly around her slender neck. She moved with determination and confidence, as if she passed stolen intelligence to the enemy every day. The waiter approached, and she ordered coffee.

His attention was drawn back to Finch, who stood suddenly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. Garrison grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, giving him the angry glared Chief was all too familiar with.

He tried to keep an eye on the girl who leisurely sipped her coffee and browsed her newspaper, but his attention was repeatedly pulled back to Finch. The General shifted in his chair, fiddled with his silverware, loosened his tie, and couldn't keep his eyes off their quarry. Finch was staying seated either by shear force of will, or Garrison was physically restraining him. Chief guessed it was the latter.

The girl beckoned for the waiter, handed him several bills, and rose to leave. As she turned, she froze, staring directly at Finch. So that's it, Chief realized. The General knows her. No wonder he'd been so agitated.

The stare only lasted a second, then she turned and headed across the street toward the park, leaving her folded newspaper on the table.

Chief had his instructions - pick up the paper before the waiter came back to clear the table, then head for their meet-up location. He stood and pulled some bills out of his pocket. He'd just dropped them next to his plate when someone barreled up behind him, nearly colliding with him. The man rushed up to the vacated table, snatched up the newspaper, and ran across the street, calling after her. "Lisa! Lisa, Aspetti! Hai dimenticato il tuo giornale."

Chief looked to Garrison for guidance, but Garrison's attention was across the street. He gave Goniff a quick nod. Chief knew he was watching a master at work as Goniff approached the couple now talking together on the sidewalk, brushed past them, and deftly switched the newspapers. Chief saw it, but the mark never felt a thing.

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Although they were technically in Allied-held territory, the Krauts still had spies everywhere. In order to minimize the chances of being spotted, Garrison had arranged a safe meeting place in the rear of an auto shop, and they all arrived separately, from different directions. When Chief slid in the back door, Goniff was the only one still missing. Actor and Casino leaned against a beat up old Lancia, trying to look like they weren't listening to the argument between the Warden and Finch. Chief joined them, boosting himself onto the hood of the car.

Garrison was angry. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Lieutenant, you will not take that tone with me."

Garrison took a deep breath and tried again. "You didn't think that was something I needed to know? Sir?"

"No, I didn't. You are simply here to facilitate the pick up. My daughter's involvement is incidental."

"Incidental? You almost blew the whole operation."

Finch lowered his head in an uncharacteristic show of contrition. "I realize that now. However, your man seemed to have pulled it off alright. Now if he would just show up."

Garrison turned to glare at them. "Have any of you seen Goniff?"

"You know Sticky Fingers, Warden," Casino said. "Probably stopped to knock over a jewelry store."

"Garrison, if your man..."

"He's joking, sir."

Casino couldn't let it go. He grinned and turned to Actor. "Did you see that really swanky place on the corner? They had this sweet little music box in the window, with rubies and emeralds..."

"Knock it off, Casino."

The back door squeaked as Goniff pushed it open, then slammed it shut. He looked up, surprised that everyone else was already there.

"What took you so long?" Garrison demanded.

"Well, I kinda took the scenic route, just is case..." he stammered, handing Garrison the newspaper he had tucked under his arm.

Garrison unfolded the paper onto the workbench, carefully turning every page until he came to the smaller sheets tucked neatly in the middle. He double checked the rest of the newspaper to make sure he'd found everything.

Actor joined Garrison at the workbench, studying the document over his shoulder. "Does that make sense to you?" he asked.

Garrison smiled. "No, but it looks like some kind of running key cipher. Our analysts should have a field day with it."

"I'll take that, Lieutenant." Finch reached for the documents.

"You can have the originals, General, but I'm taking copies back to London." He pulled the tiny Minox camera from his pocket and started to spread the documents out on the workbench when another, smaller piece of paper fluttered from between the pages.

Actor reached down to pick it up. "It looks like our little courier has left us a surprise." He and Garrison read it together and exchanged a troubled look.

"What? What is it?" Finch demanded.

Garrison handed Finch the note. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I don't read Italian," Finch snorted. "It looks like an address."

"It is an address," Actor agreed. "And a date and time. Then it says, 'Si prega di venire.' Please come."

The General turned white. "A date and time?"

"Tomorrow night, 9 o'clock."

Garrison folded his arms across his chest. "General, I think you need to tell me what's really going on here."

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Chief stretched out on the hood of the Lancia and leaned back against the windshield. It was interesting watching all the arrogant self righteousness seep out of General Finch like air out of an old tire. Actor had found him a chair and a glass of water, and now, as he tried to explain the situation, he looked less like a Brigadier General and more like a tired old man in a crumpled suit.

Garrison leaned against the work bench, arms crossed, and listened with more patience than Chief thought the pompous ass deserved. As far as Chief was concerned, their mission was over, and they should already be on the road back to the airstrip. But their mission was over when the Warden said it was over.

"As soon as Lisa graduated from Vassar five years ago, she rushed to join the Red Cross and came to Europe to aid the refugees. Her mother and I couldn't talk her out of it. She's always been strong-willed like that."

Chief heard Casino snort. It was obvious who she inherited that from.

"Then she got involved with this Hans Leiberman, some hot-shot young rising star in the Nazi Party. We lost touch with her when the war started. As you can imagine, we've been worried sick." Finch pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "Just recently we identified Leiberman as the senior cryptographer in this area, and then we received this message that his girl friend wanted to make contact..."

"And you had to find out if she was your daughter," Garrison finished for him.

"You have to understand, Lieutenant, I had to know. I never intended to jeopardize the mission or put you and your men in danger."

"I understand, sir. But it would have been nice to know ahead of time."

"I know that now..."

Garrison sighed and pushed away from the work bench. "Alright, guys, we need to get started if we're going to make our flight. Is the truck gassed up, Chief?"

"All set, Warden." Chief jumped down from the hood of the car.

"Wait!" Finch bolted from his chair. "What about Lisa?"

"What about her?" Actor asked.

"She's in trouble. You need to go to that address tomorrow night."

Casino was the one to speak up this time. "Sorry, General. That whole mess is between you and your daughter. We're done here."

The General no longer looked like a deflated tire. "Lieutenant Garrison, Hans Leiberman is a high-ranking Nazi official, and he's holding an American citizen hostage. I'm giving you your new assignment. You and your team will make that rendezvous tomorrow night and do everything in your power to free that hostage."

"General, with all due respect, sir. You don't know that your daughter is a hostage. She's been with Lieberman for nearly five years. This address is in Castel Volturno. It's still under German control."

"She has officially asked for help from the U.S. Army, and I am ordering you to provide it. Understood?"

Chief could see the Warden's wheels turning. The others shifted uneasily. They all knew Garrison wouldn't defy a direct order, and their fate rested with his plan.

"Alright, sir," Garrison finally conceded. "But we'll need some information and equipment."

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The drive up the coast from Naples to Castel Volturno would have been a scenic one if it hadn't been for the bomb damage, road blocks and Kraut patrols. The forged documents Finch had provided seemed to satisfy the Germans, and even though their battered old truck was searched several times, the rest of their gear remained hidden under the makeshift false floor in the back. Chief always thought the Warden, with his spit-and-polish haircut, looked too neatly groomed to pass for a day laborer, but his flawless German, and Actor's native Italian, always convinced their interrogators.

The Resistenza provided a small apartment behind a woodworking shop. After they'd stowed their gear, Garrison and Actor went to case the address the General's daughter had given, and Chief and their contact went to secure more suitable transportation.

Chief liked the wiry, talkative little Italian. They didn't speak each other's language, but they managed to communicate, and the guy knew his cars. He took Chief through back alleys to the Germans' motor pool and showed him where the least used vehicles were kept, at the back of the lot. If he had to risk his life, Chief decided, he might as well steal a car he'd enjoy driving. He'd picked out a nicely equipped Daimler-Benz staff car large enough to seat all of them, dark blue, not too flashy.

Now, as the sun sank behind the low buildings to the west, it turned the sky the color of a new bruise. Chief moved away from the window and buckled on the stiff leather ammunition belt. "Simple pick up, easy in and out, huh, Warden?"

"Yeah, he failed to mention the confiscated uniforms and stolen cars." Casino buttoned the tunic of his own German infantryman's uniform. "So we just walk up to this house, pretend to arrest this dirty little traitor, and drive her back across our lines. What if that note meant somethin' entirely different? Maybe it was a party invitation or somethin'."

"It does seem a little risky not having more detailed information," Actor agreed. "Lieberman won't stand by and let us take her without some kind of argument."

Garrison tapped the double-S insignia on his collar. "We're SS, remember? He won't put up much of a fight. Besides, when have you ever known the outcome of a con before it began? Isn't that part of the thrill?"

"Thrill schmill," Goniff scoffed. "I'd be more thrilled back 'ome at The Doves, scarfin' down a pint. The nerve of that General askin' us to do his dirty work for 'im. Ain't there some kinda law against that?"

"Probably. There's also a law against us disregarding orders." Garrison pulled a map from his inside pocket and beckoned them all to the sawdust-covered work bench. "Here's where we're going, Chief. You and Goniff wait with the car while we make the arrest. And this is the route we'll take out of town."

Chief took a mental picture of the map and nodded. It was a small town. There weren't that many roads leading south.

"Alright, gentlemen, let's do this."

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The address was a small, whitewashed bungalow on a narrow lane lined with other identical bungalows, and a light shown from behind the closed front curtains. Chief had to make a wide turn to maneuver the big Daimler around the corner. It took up half the street.

"I think you went a bit overboard with the car, Chief," Garrison noted.

"I don't know." Actor smiled, adjusting the cuffs of his SS Colonel's uniform. "I think it's just the right touch to sell the con."

Chief got out and opened the rear door for Garrison, while Goniff did the same for Actor and Casino on the passenger's side. Then Garrison and Actor marched in lock step up the short dirt path to the door, heads up, shoulders back. Casino followed, carrying his rifle prominently across his chest.

"Blimey," Goniff whispered. "Those three'd scare the crap outta me."

Chief elbowed him in the ribs. "Then look the part, dad."

Goniff straightened out of his slouch, adjusted his cap, and did his best to fill out the uniform.

At Actor's sharp knock on the door, the porch light came on, bathing them in a harsh yellow glow. The girl from the cafe slowly opened the door. Even in the shadows cast by the unforgiving light, the terror was evident on her face. Chief could imagine what she was thinking. Maybe she was expecting some sort of commando raid, or maybe even her father. But armed SS officers were not a welcome sight, since she was actually guilty of turning secret documents over to the enemy.

Actor's tone left no doubt about what he wanted, and he ordered Casino forward to cuff the girl's hands. Chief's stomach clenched. He knew that chilling fear, when the cold metal cuts into your wrists, ending your freedom.

As they turned and herded her down the path, the front door swung wide, and her companion from the cafe rushed out, shouting in German. Actor swung around to face him, answering his shouts with commanding anger. The young man backed down.

"Damn, he's good," Goniff muttered.

Just in case, Chief pulled his sidearm, and Goniff followed his lead.

Amid the angry exchanges between Actor and Lieberman, the girl began to sob. Casino took her by the arm, walking her away toward the car, and Chief moved up to take her other arm. Beneath the shouting, he heard Casino breathe in her ear, "It's okay, sweetheart, we're here to help."

She looked up at both of them, her fear dissolving into confusion. When Goniff opened the car's rear door, she allowed them to push her inside, and Casino climbed in next to her.

Actor brought the argument to an abrupt halt. He pivoted swiftly on his heels and strode back toward the car, Garrison a half step behind, leaving the young man standing alone on the path.

Once they were all in the car, Garrison leaned over the front seat. "Take it nice and easy through town."

Chief started the engine. "I know what I'm doin'."

In the rear view mirror, Chief could see her face in the shadows of the back seat. Her dark hair was down now, dropping over her shoulders, strands of it pulled across her face. She reached up with her cuffed hands to wipe her eyes and push her hair back.

"Casino," Garrison prompted, but Casino already had the keys out, releasing the cuffs.

"You were with my father yesterday," she said. "Who are you people?"

"I'm Lieutenant Craig Garrison. Your father sent us to get you. You want to explain what's going on?"

She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. "You scared me to death."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I think Hans suspects me. I thought he would be gone this evening..."

"We have to assume he's contacting the real SS as we speak," Actor pointed out.

"So we need to make the switch fast," Garrison agreed.

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Back at the wood shop, they quickly changed into their ragged work clothes. Their contact found some old pants and a shirt for Lisa. They were much too big, but they helped hide her attractive curves. Actor smudged dirt on her face and hid her long hair under a frayed cap.

On the way out of town, Chief ditched the Daimler, along with the uniforms, far enough away from the wood shop to deflect suspicion, then jumped into the back of the dilapidated truck with Casino and Goniff. Lisa rode in the cab between Garrison and Actor.

At each check point Chief forced himself into a quiet tension, wired and alert, every muscle flexed. And at each stop, the sleepy guards spoke briefly with Actor or Garrison, glanced at their papers, and waved them through.

The final road block was the most secure. Actor brought the truck to a stop in front of the substantial metal gates, where four German sentries stood watch. Two sergeants approached from the guard houses on either side. While one took his time examining their documents, the other circled the truck with his flashlight. It took all of Chief's self-control to keep from pulling the machine gun out from its hiding place and opening fire. He saw the same tension in Casino's guarded glare. Goniff sat still as a statue.

After endless anxious minutes, the sergeant with the flashlight finally signaled for the gate to be opened, and Actor eased the truck forward. Chief held onto his vigilance. His gut told him they weren't free yet.

Just as the truck cleared the gate, and it started to close behind them, one of the sergeants rushed from the guard house. "Haltet sie!"

Garrison shouted, "Floor it!"

Chief almost lost his balance as the truck lurched forward and sped toward the sharp curve ahead. He was reaching for his machine gun when he glimpsed the jeep speeding toward them from around the curve. The truck swerved to the left, but the two vehicles collided, slamming him against the back of the cab.

He quickly regained his feet, grabbed his weapon, and opened fire on the road block. Garrison and Actor were firing in the opposite direction, taking out the occupants of the jeep. He leapt from the truck bed and joined Casino and Goniff on its far side, still firing at whatever came at them.

"Chief, Casino!" Garrison shouted, trying to shield Lisa as he pushed her toward the jeep. "Take the girl and go!"

"But Warden..." Casino started to protest.

"Now! Go! We'll be right behind you."

It was almost reflex to follow Garrison's commands. Chief threw himself into the driver's seat as Casino shoved in the other side, Lisa squeezed between them. The rugged little jeep roared to life, Chief jammed it into reverse, spun it south, and hit the gas.

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Casino kneeled on the seat, facing the rear, ready to fire on anyone who followed them, trying to keep his balance as Chief hit every rut and swung out on every curve. "Hold it steady, will ya!" Casino shouted over the roar of the engine.

"Tell that to the road!"

"How far to our lines?"

"How should I know?"

"Another ten miles," Lisa spoke up. "The next road block is an Allied one."

"Well, it don't look like anybody's followin' us." Casino sat back on his heels, but still held the rifle ready to fire.

"Will they be alright?" Lisa asked.

"Those three?" Casino laughed. "Yeah, no sweat. They'll meet us back in Naples." But the look he gave Chief over her head said he wasn't so sure.

The engine sputtered and the jeep lurched. Chief floored the gas, but that only made the engine cough again before it quit completely, and the jeep drifted to a stop.

"Beautiful. Now what?"

Chief tried to restart it, but he knew it was useless. "Outta gas. Tank probably took a hit."

"That's just great." Casino jumped out of the jeep and reached out a hand to Lisa. "Okay, looks like we hoof it from here, sweetheart. Think you can do that?"

She nodded and took Casino's hand, letting him help her to the ground.

Chief sat still as the adrenalin drained from his muscles. He knew the pain in his left side, across his ribs, was not just from hitting the back of the truck cab. It stung, and it was wet. But it felt like a gash, not a puncture.

"Let's go, Chief," Casino prompted. "We need to make that check point before daylight."

Chief climbed from behind the wheel and tried not to wince as he reached for his rife.

Casino wasn't fooled. "Hey, you okay?"

"Oh God," Lisa breathed. "You're bleeding."

"It's a scratch."

"Let me look at it," she insisted.

"It's alright. We gotta get movin'."

"Stop being a baby and sit down." She placed her hands on his chest and firmly pushed him back to sit on the seat of the jeep.

Chief looked to Casino for some backup, but Casino just shrugged.

She lifted his shirt away from the gash and touched it lightly with her finger tips. They felt cool against the heat of his wound.

"It's a pretty deep laceration." She pulled out her long shirt tail and started tearing off strips. "It will need stitches, but at least we can stop the bleeding."

"What are you, some kinda nurse?" Chief wanted to sound indignant, but he liked the feel of her hands against his bare skin.

"I've dressed a few bullet wounds since the war began." She smiled at him, and it brought dimples to the corners of her mouth. So he sat quietly and watched her as she bandaged his wound with gentle, simple efficiency. Her hair, the color of rich chocolate, was escaping from her cap, falling in tendrils around her face, and it carried the fragrance of some exotic flower. Her dimples disappeared as her mouth turned down and her dark eyes squinted in concentration. Her delicate features bore absolutely no resemblance to her father.

When she was finished, she pulled his shirt back down over the bandage. "How does that feel?"

It burned like hell, and his whole left side throbbed, but her touch had been warm and reassuring. "Good. Thanks."

She rewarded him with another smile.

"Okay, kids, we need to get goin'." Casino sounded impatient, but he laid a hand on Chief's shoulder. "Sure you're okay?"

Chief stood and picked up his rifle. "Give it a rest, Casino."

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They walked in silence, in single file at the side of the road, and Chief moved ahead to take the lead. The night was warm and quiet, with only the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. The peacefulness was deceptive and unsettling. The sound that Chief both hoped for and dreaded - the sound of engines approaching, either Garrison or the Germans - never materialized.

He figured they'd hiked about six miles when Casino called to him, "Hey, hold up, Speedy. We need to take a breather."

Chief went back to join them where Lisa sat in the grass at the roadside. He decided he could use the rest, too. Every breath pushed against his bruised ribs. "Alright, let's find some cover."

Up the steep hillside to their left, well hidden in the woods, they found shelter in the lee of a tall granite outcropping. Lisa used the remainder of her strength to make the climb, letting Casino pull her up the roughest parts, and she gladly sank into the leaves at the base of the rock.

"I'm sorry," she panted. "I'm not used to this kind of physical activity."

"That's okay." Casino dropped down next to her. "We'll get there. How much farther do you think?"

"Maybe four miles." Chief carefully eased himself to the ground on the other side of her and looked up through the canopy of leaves. The faint glow of dawn was creeping in from the east. "We're gonna lose the darkness pretty soon."

She touched his arm lightly. "How's your side?"

"Good," he lied.

As the light changed, the crickets and owls went quiet. Morning bird songs began to fill the forest around them. A light breeze ruffled the leaves, but it was going to be another hot, humid day. With his shirt sleeve, Chief wiped away the trickle of sweat stinging his eyes.

Next to him, Lisa seemed to be dozing, her loose, dark hair partially hiding her face. Her shoulder leaned against his, and through the fabric of both their shirts, he felt her warmth, pleasant even in the rising heat of the day. Underneath the smells of dead leaves, wet earth, and his own sweat, her soft, sweet fragrance still reached him. He leaned his head back against the solid rock and chided himself for his timing. Any other time, any other place...

Lisa spoke softly. "What do you think happened to your friends?"

"Probably already back in Naples wonderin' what happened to us," Casino reassured her. "The Warden's gotten out of tougher spots than that."

"The Warden. Why do you call him that?"

"Well, you see..."

"Cuz he gives the orders." Chief cut Casino off, not really wanting to explain to her about things he'd rather forget.

"We're a special Intelligence unit," Casino began again. "Your old man called us in to handle your dead drop."

"My what?"

"To pick up the code key you stole."

She nodded in understanding and sighed heavily. "And then he sent you to rescue me."

"That's the long and short of it."

"Well, I can tell you right now, it doesn't matter what my father wants, or how many special units he sends after me, I'm not going to Naples."

"Wait a minute, missy." Casino sat up and turned to her. "We nearly got ourselves killed back there pullin' you outta Nazi hands, and you wanna go back?"

"No, I..."

"Cuz I'll be happy to drag your pretty little ass right back down to that road and tie you to a tree to wait for the next Kraut patrol to come along."

"Lay off, Casino. Let her explain."

"It better be good."

"I know you risked your lives for me, and I'm truly grateful. But you've met my father, right?"

"Yeah, we've had the pleasure," Chief told her.

"Then you understand why I'm not going back to him. I'll go to Switzerland. Or join the Resistance. But I'm not going to Naples."

"Then why did you ask him for help?" Casino wanted to know.

"I didn't ask him. I had no idea he was in Italy. I nearly fainted when I saw him at the cafe yesterday."

Casino shook his head and got to his feet, coming to a decision. "You know what, all of that's between you and your old man. I'm tired of bein' in the middle of it. We have our orders to bring you back to Naples, and that's what we're gonna do. Rest period is over."

Lisa jumped to her feet, too, squaring off with Casino. "I'm not your prisoner..."

"Ssshh!" Chief heard it above their arguing, faint but unmistakeable. A vehicle approaching on the road below, from the south. "Somebody's comin'. Stay put."

He pushed himself gingerly to his feet, forcing stiffened muscles to react, and carefully crept back down the hill. Moving between trees, he tried to stay out of sight of the road. He slithered to the top of a smaller granite outcropping and found a clear view of the straight stretch of pavement to the south. A large armored vehicle was approaching through the early morning haze. He would have killed for a pair of binoculars.

As the large scout car moved closer, though, its occupants identified it for him. The jokes they were telling were in English. American English. But he still didn't want to startle them into using the big gun mounted on the back. He slid from the boulder and moved down the hill to the side of the road. As he stepped slowly out ahead of the oncoming armored car, he threw his rifle into the dirt, raised his hands, and waved the only white thing he had - the bandage that had been wrapped around his midsection. The blood on it might be an extra point in his favor.

All weapons, including the 50mm machine gun, swung in his direction. The big armored car carried six GI's, including a Second Lieutenant who looked like he graduated from West Point yesterday. It was the officer who spoke. "Identificatevi. Identify yourself."

"I'm American. Special Forces..."

The sudden commotion of Casino and Lisa sliding down the hillside through the undergrowth drew three of the six rifles in their direction. "No! Don't shoot!" Chief shouted. "They're with me."

Casino stepped out into the road, hands raised, and tossed his weapon down next to Chief's. Lisa stumbled out after him and marched straight for the armored car. The rifles followed her as if she were a magnet. "I'm Lisa Finch. General Albert Finch is my father."

"Really?" The Lieutenant didn't sound convinced, and kept his weapon trained on her.

"These men came to Castel Volturno to help me escape..."

"Do you have identification?" The rifle didn't waver.

"No..."

"How about you?" The Lieutenant lifted his rifle to Chief and Casino, still standing with their hands raised.

"No, of course we don't have ID," Casino protested. "That'd be stupid."

The Lieutenant turned to one of his men. "Sergeant, you and Corporal Black take their weapons. Jenkins, radio Brigade HQ. We'll let them tell their story to the brass."

The Sergeant reminded Chief of most of the screws he'd ever known - large and beefy, with no brain in control, and a nose that had met up with too many fists. When he found Chief's knife in its sheath, he yanked it out and grinned. "Special Forces, huh? Looks like a street punk to me."

"You're the big dog, huh?"

"Shut your mouth, punk..."

"Sergeant" the young Lieutenant growled, "that's enough."

The Corporal collected their weapons as the Sergeant pushed them into the back of the armored car, where they sat on the floor between their guards. The massive vehicle maneuvered a clumsy turn, and headed back in the direction it had come, toward Allied lines.

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The platoon had set up operations in a deserted village. Headquarters was in the church, a dozen tents were pitched randomly among destroyed shops and homes, and two armored personnel carriers took up the single narrow lane. Their armored car pulled in next to the parsonage, and they were herded out between armed privates.

"Sergeant, lock our guests in the back room for the time being, and set a guard on the door," the Lieutenant ordered, climbing down from the vehicle.

"Wait a minute, we're the good guys," Casino protested.

"That remains to be seen."

"Okay, could you at least let General Finch know his daughter's safe?"

"I've already radioed Brigade HQ. I'll let you know when I hear something."

"Get goin'. In the house." The Sergeant poked Casino in the back with the muzzle of his rifle. Casino spun, his fists balled, and almost took a swing, but thought better of it.

When they got to the back room of the tiny parsonage, the Sergeant pulled the door open and motioned them into the dark, windowless interior, giving Chief an extra shove for good measure. But he gripped Lisa by the hand and pulled her away. "Why don't you come with me, honey. You don't want to be locked up with these two goons."

"She stays with us." Chief grabbed the Sergeant's arm, unable to contain his flaring anger.

"You're not the one in charge, punk,"

"I said leave her alone."

The Sergeant let go of Lisa and spun, slamming the butt of his rifle into Chief's side. He doubled over, the sudden paralyzing pain forcing him to his knees.

"Stop it!" Lisa screamed, dropping down beside him.

Casino lunged for the rifle, ripped it from the Sergeant's grip, and swung it back like a baseball bat, ready to smash the Sergeant's face in.

"Casino!" The Warden's shout came from the front door.

The young Second Lieutenant stood next to Garrison in the doorway. "What's going on here?"

The Sergeant straightened and snatched his rifle back from Casino. "They were trying to escape, sir."

"I doubt it. Come with me, Sergeant."

"But Lieutenant..."

"Now."

The Sergeant shrugged and slunk past them toward his commanding officer and the door, glaring angrily back over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Sam." Garrison briefly saluted the Lieutenant as he left.

Chief tried to take shallow breaths as the fire in his side eased. He felt Lisa's hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles, her other hand clutching his arm. Then Garrison was at his other side, taking his arm, helping him to his feet.

"What happened to you guys?" Casino asked. "Where are Goniff and Actor?"

"We took an inland route and tried to draw the patrols away from you. They're already back at the airbase," Garrison explained. "I drove the General here."

Finch appeared as a silhouette in the bright doorway. Staring silently at his daughter, he somehow looked diminished, more like the crumpled old man Chief had seen at the auto shop. Lisa stared back at her father for a long moment, as if she didn't recognize him, then sobbed and rushed into his arms.

Garrison nodded his head toward the door, and Chief and Casino followed him out into the sunlight, leaving Lisa and her father to their privacy.

The Warden laid a hand on Chief's shoulder. "You okay?"

It hurt to breathe, but that would pass. "I'm alive, ain't I?"

"Let's find you a medic."

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It had been an uncomfortable ride back to the airbase, over rutted winding roads. A corpsman had cleaned, stitched and dressed Chief's wound, securely wrapped his ribs, and offered aspirin for the pain. The bruising down his whole left side reminded him of the purple sunset the night before.

"Be sure to have a real doctor take a look at that as soon as you can," the corpsman told him, handing him a clean shirt. "I don't think anything's broken, but you could have a cracked rib or two."

After the corpsman gathered his instruments and left the tent, Chief was finally alone, sitting on the gurney, trying to muster the strength to go back to the barracks. Their plane didn't leave until after dark.

"Are you decent?" Lisa poked her head in the tent.

He was suddenly aware that he was half naked, except for the bandages. He pulled the shirt sleeve onto his left arm, then tried to maneuver it awkwardly over his shoulders.

She came up to help, draping the shirt around him and holding the right sleeve out for him to slip his arm in. She reached up to button it at the same time he did. Their hands touched, and she quickly drew hers away. She cleared her throat and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for coming to rescue me. And for saving me from that sergeant."

Her nervousness made him smile. "You and your old man make up?"

"Not really. He wants me to go home. I'm going to Switzerland. Lieutenant Garrison gave me a letter of introduction to one of his contacts in Zurich."

"Why not just go home where it's safe?" He finished buttoning his shirt and got down from the gurney, acutely conscious of her warmth and her scent. She needed to be in a house with a picket fence, raising babies and baking cookies, not stealing military secrets from the Nazis.

"Safe isn't all it's cracked up to be," she sighed. "I tried doing everything my parents wanted me to. Then I tried doing everything Hans wanted me to do. I need to be free to control my own life, free to make my own mistakes."

He picked up his knife sheath from the side table and strapped it in place, feeling a lot less naked. "Free's a funny thing. You gotta decide what you're willin' to pay for it."

She studied his face for so long that he felt like she was trying to memorize it, or read his soul. Quietly she said, "Lieutenant Garrison told me about you, about all of you, and why you're here."

Chief laughed. So much for that secret. He shoved the knife into its home.

She frowned at him. "You really don't expect to survive the war, do you?"

"Nope."

"I hope you're wrong." She stood on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the mouth. That was a warmth he'd never expected to feel again.

"Maybe we'll work together sometime." She graced him with her dimpled smile, then turned and walked out of the tent.

He watched her leave and savored the lingering sensation on his lips.

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Chief's bruised ribs still ached. He would rather have stayed at the mansion with the chess board, but Casino kept badgering him about the round of drinks he owed them. So he'd decided maybe a beer would taste good, and he'd reluctantly trailed after them.

The Doves was more crowded than usual, louder and smokier. Casino pushed his way through the crush, balancing their second round in both hands. A good deal spilled as he tried to set the four full glasses on the table. "Never thought I'd get used to warm beer."

"They have brandy and wine, Casino," Actor informed him. "You could try cultivating a more sophisticated palate."

"Nah, you can pay for that stuff. Too expensive a hangover for me." Casino dropped into his chair and took a long swig from his glass.

The discussion about the best kinds of alcohol was quickly turning into an argument. Chief closed his eyes, letting the louder buzz of the room drown it out. They'd completed another mission with everyone more or less in one piece. How much longer could their luck hold out? Men were getting killed by the thousands everyday. It was all just a numbers game. After that first mission, when he'd realized just how much danger he'd be facing, he'd been certain he wouldn't survive the month. And yet here he was, a little beat up, with a few more scars, but alive and sitting in a pub sharing a beer with...buddies? Friends? Brothers? Before that first mission, this was something he could never have imagined, even in his wildest fantasies.

"Hey, Casino!" The shout came from a table at the far side of the room. "You owe me a chance to win back my money."

"Later, Harry. Can't ya see I'm busy?"

"Now, Casino, while I still have enough for a stake."

Casino sighed and rolled his eyes. "I gotta go show these guys how to play poker." As he stood, he took Goniff by the shirt sleeve and pulled him up, too. "C'mon, Limey, let's go fleece some of your countrymen."

Actor watched them weave their way through the crowd to the poker table. "One day they're going to get caught cheating, and it won't be pretty."

Chief didn't think Casino cheated. He was just good. But he was certain Goniff did. He'd stopped playing for money with either of them long ago. But he could imagine the fight that would break out if Goniff were ever caught. One day the pub owner was going to stop putting up with it. One day Garrison would, too. Chief had been sure the Warden had lost his patience with the brawls the time he'd let them sit in a cell all night before he came to bail them out. Or maybe that was just a lesson in what they had to lose.

"I wonder how Lisa is doing in Switzerland," Actor mused. "Maybe we'll meet her again sometime."

Chief twirled a dart absently between his thumb and forefinger. He sincerely hoped not. She hadn't done anything to deserve paying that high a price.

Actor looked at him with a sly smile. "She seemed to be smitten with you."

"Nah, she's just a mixed up kid."

"Maybe after the war..."

"There ain't gonna be no 'after the war'."

Actor looked as if he were about to disagree, but an unfamiliar murmur rustled through the din of the pub, and they both looked up. Garrison was threading his way through the crowd toward them. He occasionally joined them here for a drink, but seldom in uniform. It meant only one thing.

Chief drained the last of his beer, and took a deep breath that still sent a painful twinge along his ribs. Unbidden, the memory of the last time he had broken ribs rushed back. He'd lain on the damp concrete floor in solitary for days before someone decided he needed medical attention. He buried those thoughts. He didn't need to be reminded of where he came from, or what waited for him if he screwed up.

He looked at the man seated to his left, now puffing on his pipe, who'd patiently taught him to play chess. Across the room, Casino laughed as he raked in another large pot, and Goniff loudly protested that he'd been cheated. In front of him stood the man who gave the orders, who had given him a chance at freedom. If it was time to pay the price again, these were the men he wanted at his back. He dropped the dart to the table where it stuck with a dull thunk. "Where to this time, Warden?"


End file.
